


Continuity

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU, Canon? What Canon?, M/M, Sticky, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> A space bridge accident tosses Ratchet back in time where he meets up with a young, idealistic gladiator.  Yeah.  Idealistic.  <i>Gladiator</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuity

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairings:** Megatron/Ratchet  
>  **Warnings:** AU, Canon? What canon? Violence, Sticky  
>  **Notes:** G1 present with a bit of an IDW past. Pretty much just making slag up as needed for the sake of the fic. A tfanonkink request fill. The request can be found [here](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/7561.html?thread=7954825#t7954825). This poor fic has been on my To Write List for YEARS, and I'm glad to finally be giving it life. I never 'officially' claimed it on the kinkmeme because I knew it'd be a while at the time. I hope it's worth the wait it's been! <3

Another day, another battle. This time though, Megatron and his glitches weren't trying to steal energon, they were trying to send stolen energon to Cybertron for Shockwave to use for his drones. Of course Megatron liked to shout at Optimus that he was helping their dying planet, but given the reports from Magnus, Shockwave was using it to build drones and fuel them, not rebuild or repower the planet. One report suggested that he wasn't even letting the remaining Seeker trines or handful of ground mechs leave Darkmount anymore at all. It was drones, and only drones sneaking into passages, hunting Autobots and the scattered and few neutrals still on Cybertron. The drones were easy to kill, but Shockwave always had more to send out.

Megatron's lies and Pitslag, Ratchet grumbled to himself, optics scanning the fighting mechs, cataloguing minor injuries and dents he would see to once the battle was over. Hopefully minor wounds were all-

"Slag!" Ratchet cursed, launching forward into a dead run as Jazz took a heavy blast to the left side of his torso. He'd jinxed himself with that, damn it! He knew better than to hope for nothing more than dents on the battlefield. Superstitious? Maybe a little, but also proven by experience. Thinking things were going well enough was a surefire way to make everything go straight to slag. "Hang on, Jazz," he said over the comms as he pelted toward the fallen spy. "Don't you dare move!" he added when Jazz rolled and tried to stand.

" _Ratch!_ " Jazz shouted back over the line, visor flaring almost white. " _Get down!_ "

Ratchet was already dropping, it having long since become instinct to throw himself at the ground when someone looked panicked, their focus behind him. However, it was too little, too late. Ratchet grunted at the impact, his gyros spinning as his feet left the hard-packed dirt, and the ground whipped by beneath him. He wasn't that high up, he noted, but he was moving fast, joints aching from the sudden increase in speed tearing him through the air.

This was going to hurt.

Then it did.

Ratchet shouted despite himself as he impacted a metal wall. The space bridge, he thought, struggling to get up even before his optics reset and onlined. There was an explosion and sharp cry. Megatron roared. Optimus bellowed Ratchet's name, voice genuinely frightened.

"Oh frag," Ratchet gasped as his vision cleared and he saw he was _inside_ the space bridge. Whipping his helm around made his vision glitch, his head pound, and his audials ring, but it confirmed his fears. He was inside, and the portal was opening above him.

" _Ratchet!_ " Optimus called over the comms. " _We'll find y-_ "

~

Ratchet dragged himself back to consciousness, hoping he wasn't in a cell in Shockwave's tower. Static fuzzed his vision, and it took a few resets before he could see he wasn't in a cell. _Yay for one favor_ , the medic thought as he climbed to his feet and got a good look around.

It was clearly Cybertron, but Ratchet scowled at the noise level, then down at the ground. The trash and debris was… fresh. It stank too. Old oils and mechfluids. Rust. Where the frag was he? Another look around told him it was an alleyway, not the Decepticon barracks, which was the only truly populated place on Cybertron anymore. Magnus kept his small troop of Autobots in even smaller groups and constantly moving around to avoid the drones. And they wouldn't be so loud for fear of detection.

Still frowning in confusion, Ratchet stumbled his way toward the alley entrance, one hand out toward a wall he really didn't want to touch, the other on his helm and pressing in against the massive headache. He made it to the corner and gaped at the sight before him. Mechs, all lower caste judging by their condition and frames, walked and drove back and forth on a grimy low-level street. Buildings stood all around, close, tall enough to blot out the sky, grimy themselves, exhaust and grease making them mostly black. Dim lights glowed orangey-yellow behind the metal cases meant to protect them from being broken. Many were busted out and dark anyway.

Ratchet drew a bit of notice, but they moved on quickly when he met their optics with a glare. He wasn't afraid of these mechs. Poor, destitute, and certainly not warriors. No, of far more concern was _where_ the frag he was. Or better yet- when? Because honestly, assuming he wasn't knocked out and just dreaming, time travel was the only answer to this mess. Weirder things had happened, and Cybertron just wasn't this _busy_ anymore. Not anywhere. More than that, no one had visible faction symbols. No one had weapons or war-grade plating.

Ratchet's helm cleared a bit as he made his way along the sidewalk, the dizziness and headache throttling back to manageable levels the more he moved. Mechs kept their heads down and hurried along for the most part, though Ratchet noticed optics in the shadowy alcoves watching him. He kept his own helm up, shoulders back. No, he didn't belong here. He could hunch and scurry, and he still wouldn't look like he belonged. Medic's bars stood out on his shoulders, and despite being dirty and streaked in Earth mud, his white plating showed his overall health in its gleam. Earth had been good to the Autobots after all. High quality energon made all the difference in a mech's life, and there was no hiding that. Better to look like he wasn't afraid, that he could handle himself -which he knew he could- than to try to fit in and fail. But Ratchet needed information. Where was he? And if he was right about the time travel notion, when? Only other mechs could answer that, but out here on the street, no one would talk him. They would be afraid or suspicious if he tried to approach them.

Picking a noisy, busy place, Ratchet shoved his way in through the crowd of loiterers at the door and found himself in the seediest bar he had ever been in- including that dive in lower Iacon he'd been dared to have a drink alone in while still in the academy. He almost smiled at that memory. It'd been a fun night.

"Hey," Ratchet said as he leaned in between two mechs at the bar.

"What ya want?" the bartender asked, his voice stereotypically gruff, orange optics narrowing as he took in Ratchet's appearance. Ratchet couldn't quite place the accent.

"Want to know where the frag I am," Ratchet replied, forcing his tone to sound more or less friendly and ready for the snickering to start around him. He wasn't disappointed.

The mech to his right guffawed and clapped a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "Must've been a good night last night!"

Ratchet snorted. "Could've been better. So? Where am I?"

"Kaon," the barkeep grunted. "You want a drink, or you wanna get off my bar?"

One optic ridge arched. "Rude," Ratchet said. "And the drink depends entirely on today's date."

"Ya ain't cute enough for games, mech," the bartender growled.

"Aw, give 'im a break, Bolts," the mech to Ratchet's right said. "He had a rough night that could've gone better." He laughed more, a number of others doing the same.

Ratchet opened his mouth to ask again for the date, but a hand planted itself firmly on his aft.

"I like red," a mech _right_ behind Ratchet purred in his audial. "White too. Fun to get messy."

"You can remove your hand from my aft, or I'll remove it from your arm," Ratchet said in a pleasant tone that had sent mechs fleeing his medbay. He reached back and caught the mech by his wrist, fingers digging into the joint just so. The mech's hiss of pain ended the laughter, and the mech to Ratchet's left stood up. He was… big, and Ratchet looked up at him. "So. You got the date?"

"Let him go, stranger. I don't care how glitched ya are, ain't no outsider gonna start slag here."

"So you don't know the date?" Ratchet asked, then almost tutted at how obviously the big mech telegraphed his punch. The medic ducked and let go of the aft-grabber, snickering a bit himself when Big's fist crunched into Grabby's face. Amusement later though, Ratchet thought and step-twist-stepped again out of the immediate range of the Big's arms. Grabby was out cold on the floor and of no further concern.

"Look. I know it's funny. I know it's a bit weird, but if just one of you could tell me the date, I'd move along." Ratchet checked where the door was, and wondered if he could make it in a sprint before anyone else tried to grab him, but alas for his hopes, Grabby had friends, and for some reason, they were angry with Ratchet, not Big.

"What're ya willin' ta pay for it?" asked a new voice.

As Ratchet turned toward the mech, a ringing blow rocked his helm to the side. He stumbled, but recovered fast, coming back with a shot of his own. An elbow connected to an abdomen then a face, rapid-fire, and before that mech was falling, another was stepping in, fist first, to try himself against the medic. Ratchet grabbed the mech by his wrist, pulled as he stepped back, and with a quick downward push and immediate yank upward, the mech flipped and went skidding across the bar's floor on his back.

"Come on. One of you drunk fraggers has _got_ to know the date?" Ratchet taunted into the stunned silence.

Either they didn't, or they weren't going to tell him, Ratchet thought as half a dozen mechs threw themselves at him all at once. He managed to fling one away and knock back a second as he turned. Strong he was, but the weight of four mechs easily bore him down. He grunted as another added himself to the pile, then again as someone punched his hip.

"Bastard!" Ratchet snapped. He kicked out, but all he could see was darkness and flailing limbs. Oh! A helm!

The mech screamed as Ratchet set his teeth against an audial horn and bit down hard. Someone grabbed his leg, and he kicked, though the grip was firm and strong. Ratchet clenched his teeth, listening to the mech whose audial he still bit scream even louder as the medic was dragged out from the bottom of the pile. His teeth scraped a layer of color and grit off, and Ratchet spat that out just as the tugging on his leg dragged him from under the pile. Shouts resolved into words now that Ratchet could hear over the clang of metal on metal. He still had his fingers buried in transformation seams, and over the curses and shouts of pain _that_ inspired, Ratchet heard the bartender bellowing.

"-ya fragger! Fightin' in my bar! See how ya like a night in prision!"

Ratchet struggled against the hands grasping him, but the mech was _big_ , and the medic found himself being lifted off the floor.

"You're going to be arrested," the big mech -different from the one Ratchet labeled Big- hissed in his audial. "Stop it! We can still get out of here if we hurry."

"Put me down, you glitchy fragger!" Ratchet snarled, still kicking. He could escape the Security Forces himself, damnit! He was given a helm-rattling shake.

"Stop it." The mech tucked him under an arm -strong-aft slagger- and hurried out the door, laughing. He was _laughing_. "Whoever heard of a medic brawling?"

Ratchet frowned and looked up at the mech. Silver with black hands, a rather distinctive style of helm. Ratchet's optics went round, and he hung in Megatron's grasp, spark fluttering in shock and no little fear. He was a strong fighter, but for all the extra training and his innate strength as a medic, Ratchet was no match for Megatron.

"What's your name, fighting medic?" Megatron chuckled as he rushed down an alley and ducked through a doorway.

"Uh… Ratchet?" Ratchet replied, staggering a bit as he was set on his feet.

"I'm Megatron," Megatron said as he grabbed Ratchet's hand and towed him deeper into the building. "This way."

Ratchet had no choice but to follow as he was dragged through what looked like some kind of storage area, though empty now. They ran down a hall, then through another door, then down yet another hall to a lift.

"Where are you from?" Megatron asked, still smiling, field radiating his amusement. "How did a medic end up in the gutters of Kaon? _Where_ did a medic learn to fight like that?"

"Uh… Iacon, originally." Should he really be answering this, Ratchet wondered, optics still too wide and locked on Megatron's face.

"Heh. Recognize me?" Megatron asked. "Don’t worry, I only fight in the Pits. I won't hurt you. But those mechs would, and the Security Forces _absolutely_ would."

"The… Pits?" Ratchet asked, processors trying to catch up. The _Pits_! Oh Primus, was this Megatron when he was still a Gladiator? Or a different reality where he stayed one?

"Yes," Megatron said with a friendly chuckle as he led the way out of the lift. "Though I dare say after seeing you brawl, you could probably give me a good run for my creds."

Ratchet's mind spun as Megatron strode through dimly lit corridors, ignoring door after door. Apartments, Ratchet supposed as the gladiator rattled on about Ratchet's fighting style. Dozens of possibilities opened before Ratchet. First, he could run. He might not get far, but he probably should run. Or. Or he could kill this mech and save Cybertron from a devastating war. Of course, then what? Was Ratchet stuck here? How bad would it be for him to murder this young mech? Because it would be murder at this point. Who were his friends or compatriots? Would they come after Ratchet? How much support had he already gained? Would Ratchet make a martyr of him if he killed him now?

Then a worse thought: Megatron was already a warlord by the time Optimus became the Prime. If Ratchet killed Megatron, would Sentinel still die by some other means? Because really, of all the atrocities of the war, Ratchet didn't mind that Sentinel died at all. But if Optimus, the first _true_ Prime in countless vorns, were not to become the Prime, what would that mean for Cybertron? Ratchet might hate the bastard beside him for all the awful things he had done, but he also hated the pre-war government of Cybertron. The elite had everything, stockpiled energon while the lower castes starved. Crime was rampant. Mechs were slaves. Literal _slaves_!

"Here we are," Megatron said, breaking into Ratchet's thoughts as he typed a complex code into the keypad to open the door.

"Where is here?" Ratchet asked, peering into the tiny apartment without crossing the threshold.

"My humble abode," Megatron said with a hint of wry humor in his tone and his arms spreading. "Come on in. I promised I wouldn't harm you."

Ratchet arched an optic ridge. "And would you believe you after the day I've had?"

Megatron grinned and crossed to a small storage cupboard. Out came two cubes of energon, dull and more purple than pink, but he wiggled one at Ratchet. What had that energon cost this mech? How could he find a stranger, bring him home, and offer precious -if barely nutritious- energon to that stranger?

Ratchet stepped far enough into the apartment to allow the door to shut, and gingerly reached out to accept the energon. "You are a very strange mech."

Megatron laughed and walked over to the only piece of furniture in the room- his berth. He plopped onto the side, leaving plenty of room for Ratchet to sit and not be close enough to touch. It was a polite and _aware_ gesture, and the medic found himself boggling anew. "You're a medic," Megatron said with a finger pointing at Ratchet's shoulder as he took another sip of his own energon. "What in the wide universe are you doing down here in the gutters?"

Ratchet braced himself then tossed back the entire cube. It was _awful_ , and despite having tried to be ready for it, he choked on the flavor and thick slide of it down his intake. "Primus!" he wheezed.

Megatron snickered, offered a toast with his own cube, then drained it as well. "I'm sure you're used to far better."

"You could say," Ratchet replied. He gave the cube a squeeze to disperse the field and parked his aft on the corner of the berth as far from Megatron as he could get. "But thank you, and yes. Medic. As to how I got here…" He trailed off, shrugged, and leaned back against the wall. "Smelt me if I know."

Megatron tipped his helm. "Hm. Well, you are welcome to stay here tonight. I have a fight tomorrow, but I can guide you to the way back up before I need to report."

Ratchet cycled his vents and thought about it for a moment before finally admitting, "I can't." Pits, he _could_ try to log into his younger self's accounts, assuming he existed in this world. If he could travel through time, then alternate timelines could really be a thing too, and Primus only knew which it was at this point. Or if Ratchet had simply lost his damn mind. However, he should probably assume it was the same timeline to be safe, and if that was the case, then him hacking the account would be noticed. Ratchet couldn't recall any such thing happening to him in his past, so his best bet was probably to lay low and keep an optic out for a way back to Earth.

Megatron bit his lip, looking young and- No, Ratchet was going to stop right there. "Did something happen? Did they cast you out?" he asked.

"Not in so many words," Ratchet dodged, uncomfortable enough that he didn't have to fake the clamping of his plating. It read clearly as 'I don't want to talk about it', and hopefully this Megatron wouldn't be the sort to push. "But I think I'm stuck here. No creds, no credentials." He patted at his subspace, knowing he was well-stocked with emergency supplies, but it wasn't anything like his proper medbay. "Barely any tools."

"But you are a medic?" Megatron asked, his gaze sharp and familiar in the way his expression went calculating.

"…Yes."

"Hm. Well, I'll make a deal with you, medic Ratchet. If you repair me after my fights, I'll let you stay here and provide you with what energon I can. We'll split it fairly. If you're good, I may even be able to point you toward other mechs that will be grateful for a real medic's care." Megatron flashed a grin at Ratchet. "Maybe not my competitors though."

Ratchet caught himself smiling a bit too, and shook his helm. "Well, I don't have any better offers right now, so why the frag not?"

Megatron snickered and twisted to the side to bring his legs up onto the berth. "We should rest. I've no designs on accosting you, so make yourself comfortable up here if you want. If not, the floor is available."

Ratchet pushed himself to the floor. "I'm not much for cuddling mechs I just met. Just don't forget and step on me," he said.

"I promise. Wake me if you need anything. I'm going to turn out the light now?"

"Yes," Ratchet said and laid out on his back on the hard floor. "Good night, Megatron. Thank you for your help tonight."

"You're welcome, though I have to admit, it's not completely altruisic," Megatron replied as he sent a signal to shut off the already dim, single light. "Medics are worth their weight in energon down here. A skilled one, double that. I'll never be able to pay you what you're worth, but I can offer protection and a measure of what passes for safety down here in exchange for your help."

Ratchet stared up into the darkness and cycled his vents. "So long as you don't try to stop me when I say it's time for me to go."

"You are a free mech, Ratchet," Megatron said, voice serious, almost grave. "You are not my prisoner. I've been a slave myself. I'd _never_ treat another mech in such a heinous fashion."

Ratchet chewed on his lip, spark throbbing hard as he tried to reconcile this surprisingly _nice_ mech with the warlord and tyrant he knew. Of course, Megatron wanted something from him, but he hadn't once threatened Ratchet to get it. He sounded honest too, and if that was genuinely the case- how had this mech become the Megatron Ratchet knew? The mech that _had_ enslaved others. And that brought another thought to mind. What if… _what if_ Ratchet could temper the destruction that would come from this mech? What if the monster inside Megatron could be mellowed somehow? Change was needed. Megatron was a passionate, clearly intelligent, and already well-spoken mech despite his lack of formal education. Perhaps the revolution could come, but not at such a horrible price?

And maybe Ratchet had an inflated ego to think he could influence anything, and his processors were scrambled from his jaunt through the space bridge?

Oh. He still didn't know the date either. Damnit.

~ | ~

When Ratchet first woke, he had hoped that it had all been a bad, crazy dream, but reality quickly slapped him upside the helm with the vision of Megatron's smiling face hovering over him and a big black hand offering slag energon for breakfast.

Now, hours later, Ratchet gaped at Megatron when he entered the almost empty little waiting room the medic had been left in before the match. Just being down in the arena was a _whole_ new experience, and Ratchet had been in some rough and dirty places. This was- Primus. He liked to think that he wasn't naïve to the world and how bad things were back then -now- but this was beyond his worst expectations or memories. There were stains on the floor that he couldn't help but identify, and they didn't bear thinking on too deeply.

Megatron, however- Megatron was upright, smiling like this wasn't the worst room on Cybertron, and being helped to the single stool by two other mechs barely large enough to brace him up.

"Do I even want to know the condition of the other mech?" Ratchet asked as the two strangers eyed Ratchet and took their leave without a word.

Megatron snickered, wobbling on the stool as though drunk. "He's alive."

Ratchet shook his helm and inched closer, leery of the battle high he could feel radiating from Megatron. Sure, Ratchet was used to warriors post-battle, but not _Megatron_. And just because the mech was… jovial, practically giddy really, didn't mean he wouldn't turn on the medic. Pits, even tough old Ironhide had lashed out at Ratchet from the pain once or twice.

"So not to the death then?" Ratchet asked, wincing as he did.

"We're the ones that draw in the creds. Killing isn't that common down here."

"It does happen," Ratchet grumbled as he set to work carefully prying up the indented, jagged edges of what looked like an axe strike just behind Megatron's right shoulder. "He hit you in the back?"

Megatron shrugged. "I'm the fool who lost his footing and presented a nice broad target."

"Fool is right," Ratchet growled then flinched back as Megatron turned to look at him.

Red optics brightened, and Megatron turned a bit more, reaching out a hand slowly toward Ratchet. "I'm _not_ going to hurt you, Ratchet."

Ratchet cycled his vents and shoved the fear down. "Just a bit gun-shy," he muttered and stepped back in. "Turn around. This is probably going to hurt as much to fix as it did to receive it in the first place. Unless you've got pain blockers down here somewhere?"

"A patient attacked you?" Megatron asked, obeying and giving Ratchet his back again. "And no, there aren't any pain blockers. I'll be fine."

"A number of times, but… You know, it's just not something I want to talk about. The past is the past." Or the future, Ratchet thought as he got back to work. Flash images of the twins, Ironhide, Optimus, even Wheeljack once, shot through his mind.

"I have better control than that," Megatron said softly, completely unaware of the memories Ratchet faced. Memories that quickly shifted from the medic's friends to Megatron.

Ratchet remembered every punch, every shot of that fusion cannon, every scream of uncontrolled rage. He could see the blood and fluids and sparks fading right before his optics. And every one of those wounds was directly caused by the mech sitting so politely, so _docile_ under his hands. The urge pulsed within Ratchet's spark again. Megatron was tired, his back turned, unsuspecting. All the medic would need to do was turn on his laser scalpel, angle it to the right of where he was already working. Half of Megatron's motor relays would be offline in a spark pulse. It wouldn't take anything then to sever his vocalizer. He could drop this future tyrant and killer of worlds in ten seconds.

"It was a high-end fight," Megatron said, apropos of nothing as near as Ratchet could tell. "They'll be bringing my pay by on a cred chip here shortly." He twisted his helm around to flash Ratchet a quick grin. "I'll take you to a better bar than last night's."

"Anywhere but last night's," Ratchet said with a slight laugh. Fragger. And frag himself too, because he just _couldn't_ murder this mech in cold blood. Frag him to the damn Pits. 

~ | ~

"Why do you do this?" Ratchet sighed as Megatron limped into the waiting room and slumped into the single chair. At least it _was_ a chair now and not a rickety stool like the last few times. "There's got to be work out there somewhere for a mech as strong as you." There wasn't, he knew it, but he wished there was. This was practically the war still with Ratchet making repairs that would only be torn up and the wounds made worse within a week.

"There is nowhere else I can gain a following that will respect me enough to listen to me while providing me the creds I need to survive," Megatron replied, his tone even and calm. Convicted and determined, Ratchet thought.

"I hate fixing the same slag over and over," Ratchet grumbled as he got to work. "What is this? The third time for this damn shoulder? When are you going to quit trying to block like that?"

"Like what?" Megatron asked, tipping his helm back and around at a, frankly, funny angle to look at Ratchet. "Are you watching my matches?"

Well slag. "I got curious and peeked," Ratchet lied, face heating, though that made no damn sense. "And given that you keep getting this injury, I can only assume you're twisting the same way to block. Fine, the blow doesn't hit your face or chest, but it keeps hitting _here_ ," he said, giving the dented plating on Megatron's back, just behind his shoulder, a yank. "At least this time it was a blunt object instead of an axe."

Megatron grinned. "So now you're an arena coach as well as a medic? I found quite the prize on that barroom floor."

Ratchet snorted. "Coach, my rusted left wingnut. You're a better fighter than this, so prove it. And stop getting the same stupid injury!"

Megatron chuckled as he straightened and settled back in to let Ratchet work. "Yes, my medic."

I'm not your anything, Ratchet wanted to say, but he still had no idea how far he could push with Megatron. Surly was accepted. Allowing the intensity of his dislike for Megatron, for who he would become, to show- well that was just stupid. He focused on his repairs, and not the fact that he had just told _Megatron_ how to better protect himself.

~ | ~

"Damnit!" Ratchet snarled as Megatron was _carried_ into the makeshift medbay. Their post-fight accommodations kept getting better, and this room had a berth and even some supplies. Ratchet had been at this a month and a half now, had no idea where it was coming from, but he was glad for it all now. This was the worst he had seen Megatron damaged.

And the glitch had the audacity to grin at him. "You should see the other mech."

"I hate you." Ratchet jabbed a finger at the berth, and the mechs hauling along the slagged gladiator deposited him there without a word.

"No, you don't," Megatron said, unrepentant, though he hissed as Ratchet pushed his shoulders so he'd lie down.

"Oh, shut up." Ratchet gave Megatron a once over then scrubbed a hand over his face. "Frag. Did no one ever teach you to duck?"

"He was faster than I anticipated. New recruit."

"Is he alive?" Ratchet growled, and Megatron blinked at him.

"Of course he is. You know I don't do death matches." Megatron reached a hand out to grip Ratchet's arm. "I'm dented, but I know with your skill, I'll be fine by morning."

Ratchet snorted and tugged his arm away. "Fragging glitch. There's gotta be a better way than this." He said that every time, and worse- he _worried_ more every match. Logic dictated that Megatron was going to be fine. He was still kicking in the future and he hadn't had Ratchet before to look after him. He would be _fine_.

Primus, help him, he was growing attached.

"If there was, I would," Megatron replied solemnly. "But you know as well as I do that there is not."

Ratchet paused in gathering supplies to really look at the mech. Earnest face, wide optics, nothing but honesty and even a bit of longing in his field. The medic sighed and set about repairs. "Guess I'll have to put your aft back together until we find one."

Megatron smiled, and this time when he reached out to touch Ratchet's arm, Ratchet allowed it.

~ | ~

"What the Pit?" Ratchet demanded as another mech limped into his little hovel of a medbay. Then a second one stumbled in behind him. "Are you two kidding me?"

They had the grace to look sheepish. "Little bit of a disagreement," the one mumbled. Boomer, Ratchet thought was his name.

"Oh, a little one?" Ratchet snarked, optics sweeping both mechs before he turned back to Megatron's elbow joint. "Your managers find out, you're both fragged."

"Have a spark, Ratchet," Megatron murmured so only the medic could hear him, his field and voice full of amusement. For whatever reason, he seemed to think Ratchet's displays of temper were hilarious.

"Uh… yeah," Boomer said, rubbing the back of his helm. "We really will be, and then we'll miss the next circuit, and that means no fuel…" He trailed off, and Ratchet looked over his shoulder to see the hang-dog expression both mechs wore.

"I don't fix idiots that get hurt in stupid ways. Not that beating each other to slag for other mechs' entertainment isn't stupid," Ratchet grumbled. He gestured at Megatron to flex his arm, and when he was pleased enough with the lack of grinding, he faced the two other gladiators. Neither were in Megatron's class, being smaller, which meant he didn't have to feel guilty about helping mechs that would slag Megatron the next time they were in the arena together. And no, he was not going to unpack -yet again- how fragged up it was that he was worrying about _Megatron_. But the longer this living in the past thing dragged on, the harder it became for Ratchet to see the enthusiastic, kind, fragging _generous_ mech as the killer of his own future.

Especially when he smiled at Ratchet like they were sharing some fun little secret.

"It's just a few dents," the other mech said, and Ratchet tried to remember his name and failed. He'd been avoiding becoming too attached to any of these people, hoping that he would magically be sucked into a sudden vortex and end up back home. Thus far, that hope had proven fruitless.

"Just a few dents," Ratchet repeated with a _look_ toward Megatron. "You stay put, glitch, I'm not done with you. You two. Sit." He pointed to a spare slab that served as med berths here, and moved over to the other two.

They really were fairly minor dings, but the idiots shouldn't have been fighting, and Ratchet told them that in no uncertain terms. They were both grateful, however, and Ratchet was a sludgy, foul tasting cube of energon richer once he waved them out.

"Making quite the name for yourself, medic," Megatron said once they were alone again.

Ratchet shook his helm. "Yeah. Just what I want." He prodded Megatron until he could get at his ankle. "The limelight's yours. I'm content as an anonymous face in the shadows."

~ | ~

Ratchet lounged on the berth, not quite hungry enough to dare the energon. Megatron was draped along the other end of the berth, his own cube long gone, his attention on the datapad he was writing on. Ratchet chewed on his lip, trying to work up the nerve to ask what he wanted- needed to.

"You should drink that," Megatron murmured, voice distracted. "I know it's awful, but you need your energy."

"I'm a bit… concerned about this… meeting thing you mentioned," Ratchet said, his voice low and hesitant.

"Why? It's certainly no more illegal than the arena." Megatron scribbled a few more words then shut off the datapad to turn his full attention to the medic.

Ratchet frowned, spark pulsing faster. This was the turning point though, wasn't it? This was going to be _Megatron's_ first public speaking engagement. Everything up until now was just words on a datapad. Words Ratchet hadn't even read. Megatron hadn't offered, and so Ratchet hadn't asked, not wanting to cross a line or end up picking a fight.

Megatron straightened and turned to face Ratchet, a little frown on his face as well. "You are really worried, aren't you?"

Rather than answer, Ratchet drained the energon in one long pull.

"Ratchet," Megatron said, leaning forward, his hand reaching to grip the medic's knee. "This is as safe as I can make it. And believe me, I want it safe. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of the mechs that will be attending. We need change, but that change will never come if no one acts."

"I know." Ratchet sighed and sat up, cube dispersed with a squeeze. "I just don't…" He sighed again, uncertain how to say what he meant. He _liked_ this Megatron. This earnest, honest mech that shared his energon and box of an apartment, who made no demands on Ratchet. Not even to repair him. He _asked_ every time if Ratchet would be coming to the match. How had this mech become the monster Ratchet knew?

"Here." Megatron held out the datapad. "Read it. I know you've never asked, but if you're this worried over me, then you should read it. You need to understand how strongly I feel about this. It's worth my life." He flashed a grin at Ratchet. "Though I really hope that'll never be the cost of it."

Hasn't been so far, Ratchet thought as he took the datapad.

"It's my speech for tomorrow," Megatron said, and by Primus, he even sounded a bit nervous.

Ratchet turned the datapad on and read, his spark twisting in on itself the further he went. As speeches go, it was a good one. Long enough to make it worth organizing, plain spoken and simple to understand without speaking down to the audience, but not so long as to drone on and bore everyone. Megatron was… really a great public speaker, and Ratchet already knew he had charisma to spare.

"Rise up," the medic murmured.

"From these gutters. From the chains they've bound us with," Megatron said, a fierce light in his optics. "No one deserves this life, Ratchet! I was a slave in the mines. I had _no right_ to leave them and find a different job. I'd have been dragged back and chained there. I saw it done to others. We were slaves. Mechs are _slaves_! That's abhorrent! No mech should be able to own a fellow Cybertronian. We are all of us sapient beings. Freedom and equality are our birthright. The birthright of all, not just the wealthy elite. We shouldn't have to scrape and scrounge for the energon we need to fuel our frames."

Ratchet watched Megatron's face, felt his field and the honestly and pain in it, and felt his spark break. Megatron meant every word he said, even as he continued. Ratchet listened, nodding, agreeing, and wanting to curl up and sob. How, he kept asking, _how_ had this person become the maniac that bellowed for Prime across a battlefield of his own making? How had this mech, so desperate to see the stars and be sure every other mech on Cybertron could too, become the violent killer that had no problem enslaving mech and organic alike? Who held no compunctions with destroying _worlds_?

"Ratchet?" Megatron asked, and Ratchet realized he'd lost the thread of the conversation. He flinched when dark fingers stroked his cheek, drawing damp lines through his tears. "We'll make it better, my friend. It won't be easy, but I have to try."

"I know," Ratchet whispered. "The world is fragged."

"I'll be as careful as I can," Megatron promised, misreading Ratchet's sorrow and fear.

All Ratchet could do was scrub at his face in embarrassment and nod.

~ | ~

Ratchet was nervous and tense. Megatron had been talking about his 'plans' more and more over the past weeks and since he showed Ratchet his speech, and today he wanted Ratchet to meet 'someone special'. That someone special was _Soundwave_ of all mechs, and Ratchet carefully avoided touching the telepath lest he discover the medic's secret.

Soundwave, for his part, was intrigued, and that kept Ratchet on his toes, fearful of the truth being discovered. Luckily, blessedly, he was able to maintain his blocks, though that might have been part of what had Soundwave so intrigued by him.

"Soundwave is currently Ratbat's slave," Megatron said, blunt as a club to the head. "That situation will be changing as soon as we can manage it, but for now, he's helping me secure some financial backing."

"Senate: corrupt. Ratbat: extremely corrupt. Gladiatorial fights: illegal," Soundwave said, his monotone more clipped and sharper than Ratchet remembered. "Gladiatorial fights: often viewed by Senators. Bets placed. Preference: death match."

"They can all frag right off," Megatron said and lounged back in the chair so Ratchet could get at his shoulder. At least the wound was in a new spot. He was learning. "I'm not murdering a mech for the sick entertainment of a wealthy glitch."

"Good," Ratchet said, already worried about the next round. The first fight had been more an exhibition of skill, than a kick down and drag out, but the next fight was less expo, more beating. And no matter what Megatron said, sometimes, mechs died in the ring. Ratchet might know the future, but maybe his just being here had changed Megatron's? Pits, change was what he was attempting to accomplish. He really didn't want to think though, on what could happen to him in this past world without the gladiator's protection. Ratchet could kick aft just fine, but Megatron's reputation had grown enough to afford him some authority in the Pits. Having his own 'pet' medic was quite the hurrah, and there were any number of far less scrupulous mechs that would try to hold Ratchet prisoner rather than treat him like a friend. As _weird_ as it was to consider Megatron a 'friend', Ratchet would prefer that over the other fighters out there. Many were good mechs, but they weren't the ones he needed to be concerned over.

"He worries so," Megatron said to Soundwave with a grin.

"Worry: not misplaced. Arena: dangerous."

"Thanks for that," Ratchet muttered. "I'll recharge so much better now tonight."

A soft light flickered across Soundwave's visor, and Megatron snickered. Ratchet didn't know how to interpret Soundwave, but he gave Megatron a light whap for being a brat.

"It's because he likes me," Megatron told the telepath in a stage whisper, then laughed again when Ratchet flicked his fingers against the silver chest. "Well you do."

"Nope. Hate you with the fire of a thousand burning suns." The line came easily, but Ratchet was aware of how untrue it had become.

~ | ~

Time refused to stand still for Ratchet. Days, weeks, and then finally months flew past him, and it all felt like it was speeding up, rushing him toward disaster, and this latest rally had left him with a deep, cold dread in his tanks.

"You're being very quiet," Megatron observed once they were home.

Home. Ratchet had never expected to call this tiny hovel of an apartment home. It was the den of the worst enemy the universe had ever known. And it was 'home'. "The tone of your speech was a bit different than it originally read," he said at length, taking his customary spot at the foot of the berth.

Megatron gathered two cubes, passing one to Ratchet before he, too, sat on the berth. "What do you mean?"

It was the genuine puzzlement that chilled Ratchet's lines. "You're encouraging violence. You're dragging in criminals, not just the poor and destitute."

"Mechs become criminals out of desperation, Ratchet," Megatron said patiently, and sipped his energon. It was, admittedly, slightly better quality than usual, though Ratchet didn't know where it had come from.

"Not all of them. Not some of those mechs I saw out there tonight," Ratchet argued, his energon hanging from his fingers as he pointed one at Megatron. "Your wording condones violence. You being a gladiator, playing to the crowd the way you do, it tells those already happy to hurt others that it's ok to do it. You're talking about rising up, but you're not saying _how_."

"Yes, I am," Megatron protested. "That is the point of these rallies. Once we have enough mechs, we can march on the security checkpoints that keep us in the gutters. We can march on the city borders, and defy them!"

"See, you say march now, but that's not what you said earlier," Ratchet shot back. He lifted the cube and drained it, taking a moment to gather his thoughts as Megatron tipped his helm and waited in curiosity. "You said, 'We must rise up. Fight. Show them that they can no longer ignore us.' How is that not a call to arms?"

Megatron blinked. "I suppose it is, but do you really think that the elite are going to roll over and let us have our way? They don't even see us as _people_. As far as my fights go, you know why I do that. It's the fastest, best way to reach others. The fights are a symptom of the sickness in our world, and I make no secret about that."

"No, you don't," Ratchet agreed. "But! You strut around the arena, smiling, riling up the crowd, waving your arms around." One of his own lifted and swept up and around in an approximation of Megatron urging the audience to cheer louder for him. "To you, it's a show. How do you think others see it?"

Megatron frowned in consideration, and really gave it thought for a few silent minutes. Ratchet waited, optics locked on the gladiator's face. "I would never throw another punch if I thought people would listen and act, but with the exception of those truly criminally-minded mechs, we are dealing with frightened, beaten, starving mechs. They won't stand up for themselves if they don't _believe_ that a powerful mech capable of defending them has their back." He met Ratchet's gaze with a sure and steady expression. "The Senate won't listen to just words either. You must know that this will get violent at some point."

Ratchet did, and that was exactly what he feared. "I do. Really. I- The problem is in _encouraging_ violence. We march, and the security forces attack when we _peacefully_ try to file through the gates, then yes, mechs should defend themselves. They should _subdue_ their attackers, but only with as much force as is required to stop the attack. Security forces are just mechs like us. They've got a job to do, and they'll be punished if they fail it."

"So we bring them with us," Megatron said with a smile.

"Because it'll be just that easy," Ratchet snarked.

"We won't know until we invite them." Megatron reached over to nudge Ratchet's arm, his grin fading to a sober, sincere expression. "I want words alone to be enough, but they are useless without strength behind them. I will keep your words in mind, however, for the next rally."

Ratchet nodded, and Megatron smiled again, his optics dimming. After a moment of being stared at, the medic demanded, "What?"

"Nothing." Though Megatron's smile only grew. "Your care is spark-warming and uncommon. Most would not think of the Security Forces as anything other than instruments of our oppressors, but you see the mech and his plight."

Ratchet felt his face heat, and dropped his gaze to his lap. "There are those that wish harm, but most mechs just want to live. I think even many of those wealthy elite just don't _know_ about the way things are. They haven't been taught. They can't fathom a mech would live in the gutters, in filth."

"Then we must open their optics. We must show them we exist and the crimes committed against us. Then they can choose for themselves to be good mechs that find this inequality repugnant and wish to correct it, or side with the oppressors."

Too black and white, Ratchet thought, but he nodded. It was impressive that Megatron even agreed to consider the medic's counsel, let alone imply that he would take the words to spark enough to modify how he spoke at the next rally. That and he did _not_ know how to handle such a soft smile aimed at him.

~ | ~

Another arena fight, and another victory for Megatron. He _did_ take Ratchet's words to spark, and the medic's systems hummed with pleased surprise even as they retired to the medbay for repairs.

_"Yes!" Megatron roared, arms outstretched as though to embrace the crowd of screaming, cheering mechs in the stands above and all around him. He turned, red optics aglow. "Yes!" he shouted again, but then drew one finger in toward his lips in a gesture for quiet._

_Shockingly, a hush fell over the audience._

_"What is this?" Megatron asked, voice carrying throughout the arena. "A victory?" An answering cheer went up, but the gladiator shook his helm, waving away the applause. "No. This is no victory. Two mechs, forced into battle, to beat on one another just for a couple cubes of energon so they might survive until the next time they must fight? This is a travesty! This is wrong!"_

_A murmur rippled through the crowd along with uncomfortable shifting. Megatron, gently, in a roundabout way, chastising them for enjoying the fight. Ratchet was stunned, his spark throbbing hard, excited, disbelieving but extraordinarily pleased._

_Hope rang inside Ratchet as Megatron spoke, turning the arena into a rally._

"Megatron," Soundwave's distinctive voice sounded from the door, startling Ratchet from his thoughts.

"Soundwave!" Megatron greeted, smiling at the telepath. "Come in."

"Requested Seeker," Soundwave said as he entered the room. With a half turn and gesture toward the door, he added, "I bring three."

"Seekers?" Ratchet questioned.

"Absolutely," Megatron said as three very familiar mechs entered the small room. "Vos has struggled against being brought under the press of the Senate's thumb for countless vorns. Who better to join our cause?"

"Greetings, Lord Megatron," Starscream said, slipping with incredible grace to one knee and bowing his helm.

Ratchet felt Megatron's field ripple in surprise and pleasure.

"Stand. I am no lord," Megatron said. "We seek allies, not servants. No mech should kneel before another."

Starscream rose, wings vibrating in clear excitement. "I am Starscream." He gestured behind himself to the other two. "My trinemates, Thundercracker and Skywarp."

"It is a pleasure to meet you all," Megatron said, though anything further was cut off by Ratchet stepping forward and gripping Starscream's arm. The wound on his side was ragged, treated, but not with any skill.

"The frag happened to you?" Ratchet asked, running a scan, and about glitching at the readings he received back. On impulse he scanned Thundercracker and Skywarp, but no, they were both mature mechs. Starscream though- Primus, the little glitch was a youngling! "What…?"

"It's nothing," Starscream said, his gentle tenor nothing like the screech Ratchet was used to. Granted, the Seeker was speaking very softly, but when the frag ever did _Starscream_ speak softly? "I… used to be in the academy, and I went on an explorations project. Returning was… an adventure." He tried to give Ratchet a wry smile, but the medic wasn't buying it. Especially with the flash of rage through the Seeker's field when he mentioned the academy. "It is fine and healing."

"Were you in the academy for medical training?" Ratchet asked, dragging precious nanite gel from his subspace.

"…no. Chemistry and Xenobiology."

"Then how about you shut up and let me do my job?"

Starscream field flared with shock and indignation, but before he could speak, Megatron chuckled and said, "Let him. It's easier to obey Ratchet than not."

Sadness and pain filled Starscream's field, the Seeker surprisingly inept at controlling it. Though some of that could be youth. "I see. The well-intentioned bully."

"Who you calling a bully, brattling?" Ratchet asked, and earned himself a little grin from the Seeker. This… Oh Primus, was this the mech Skyfire knew and swore was the 'real' Starscream? Behind white wings, Thundercracker and Skywarp stood. Thundercracker watchful, Skywarp starting to look a bit bored, but it was Starscream that was the surprise. He wore an almost shy smile. He didn't argue or rant. He didn't scream about not being weak or a coward. "Chemistry, huh? You should look into making the sludge we call energon here into something that doesn't clog filters and rot tanks."

"I came to fight for a free Cybertron."

"You can be a fighter and scientist," Ratchet said. He flicked his left arm out, and with a sequence of clicks a small laser gun was revealed along the side of his forearm. The medic smirked, then gave his arm a twitch to lock the gun back away and out of sight.

Starscream gaped. Skywarp was suddenly paying attention. Thundercracker's wings had swept back and one hand had reached forward as though to grab Starscream.

"Primus frag me!" Megatron gasped, as even he had never seen the gun before.

Ratchet snickered and finished treating Starscream's wound with a static patch. "Keep that on there for a few days. Keep it clean." Then he turned away and went back to Megatron, ignoring the shock behind him.

"I'm pleased to have your aid," Megatron said, almost visibly shaking himself out of his surprise as Ratchet got back to work on his knee. "I'm sure Soundwave's waiting just outside. He'll show you to your quarters and arrange a time when we can all speak in more depth."

Starscream seemed a bit surprised to be dismissed, but he gave Megatron a respectful bow, then turned and led the way out.

Ratchet waited until the footsteps had receded and the hall gone quiet, then said, "He's only a youngling."

"Perhaps, but he's claimed himself a trine already, and he carries himself well." Megatron folded his hands over his middle and tipped his helm as he watched Ratchet. "You have weapons in-built."

"Yes, I do." And he really shouldn't have given away that fact.

For a few long, drawn-out moments, Megatron said nothing, then he huffed a soft laugh and shook his helm. "You are continually a surprise and full of contradictions."

"Having the capacity to defend myself is not the same as waving them around. That _youngling_ is in awe of you. He is exactly what I was talking about before. He came here to be your soldier." Ratchet pushed the panel shut with a little more force than needed and straightened to glare at Megatron. "I only showed him my personal protection in a bid to keep him from thinking he should give up science to be nothing but a warrior. He's a chemist. He's into xenobiology. Do you know what that tells me?"

"He could afford good schooling?" Megatron guessed, his smile amused.

Ratchet snorted. "No, you glitch. It tells me he's already researching alternative energon sources. It's a very unpopular idea." Not a deduction Ratchet made on his own, but he was absolutely _not_ bringing up any hint of Skyfire. Ever.

"Because the wealthy like us starving and weak."

"Because as a whole, our race is incredibly xenophobic," Ratchet replied, moving on to a gash near Megatron's opposite ankle. His opponent had literally been trying to cut him off at the legs. "And because if energon was more readily available, the lower castes would be harder to control. You'd do well to encourage that one's scientific leanings."

Megatron gave a slow nod. "Your advice is often wise, Ratchet." He grinned. "Can I have a gun like that?"

"Abso-fragging-lutely _not_!"

~ | ~

The warning about the Senate's raid on the gladiatorial pits came _just_ in time to allow _most_ of the fighters and support crews to escape. The arena fights and Megatron were becoming far too popular for comfort. The Senate's dirty little secret was making far too many headlines, and even with their control over the media, too much information was getting out.

Ratbat sent a message to Megatron through Soundwave, ordering the gladiator to tone it down, or next time he might not get the warning in time to escape.

Megatron laughed, and asked Ratchet to remove the inhibitor that kept Soundwave enslaved. Easier asked than done, but Ratchet inspected it and promised to try and figure out a work around the next time Soundwave was able to slip away.

Another raid, and this time it really was only Soundwave's frantic warning that saved them. Despite that, Megatron was hurt, leaving Ratchet's spark racing and his hands shaking. Had that blaster bolt been a little stronger, a little to the left, Megatron would have been beyond Ratchet's pathetically small collection of medical tools.

"You utter _idiot_!" Ratchet raged, furious that his hands were trembling as he tried to get the frelling bleeding to stop on a stubborn line in the side of Megatron's torso. "What in Primus' name were you thinking, turning around to taunt them?"

"I was distracting them," Megatron replied, tone easy and unaffected by the fear thundering through Ratchet despite their supposed safety in this new hideout.

Primus! How could he be so calm? They couldn't even return to Megatron's former apartment!

"There were two mechs trapped in an alcove that the Enforcers hadn't noticed yet," Megatron said. "This minor wound is an acceptable price to pay for their freedom."

"Minor," Ratchet growled, finally getting the line dried long enough for the patch to adhere and stop the leak. "This could have been much worse you, fragging lunatic. My damn spark about guttered!" He wiped his hands on a rag, angry glare fixed on Megatron's face. "What happens to this cause of yours if you die?"

"Use me as a martyr and carry forward."

Ratchet felt his jaw drop, and for a moment all he could do is sputter in wordless fury. Then he hauled off and cuffed Megatron's helm. Hard.

"Ow! Ratchet!" Megatron _laughed_ , hands coming up to fend off the medic.

"Ow? _Ow_?!" Ratchet swung again, but Megatron caught his wrist, then the other.

"Ratchet. I'm alive."

"Not for fragging long! Let _go_!" Ratchet tried to jerk his wrists free, but instead, Megatron yanked him in, making the medic fall against his damn injured chest.

Strong, large hands grasped Ratchet's helm and pulled, and suddenly Ratchet was being kissed.

He went complete still, optics wide as he stared at the angle of Megatron's cheek while soft, warm lips moved against his own. This was impossible, he thought. He really needed to pull back. He had to stop this.

Megatron was _kissing_ him.

_Megatron_ was kissing him!

But this wasn't Megatron the warlord. This wasn't a tyrant or murderer or maniac. This was a mech who had just risked a severe injury and his own freedom for the chance at safety and freedom for two other sparks.

Ratchet melted into the kiss, relief pouring into his field, and as Megatron's arms wrapped around his back and held him in tighter, the medic thought, maybe, just maybe he could help this good mech remain a good mech. Maybe that damn space bridge accident had been a good thing, and Ratchet could make real change the _right_ way. Maybe he was enough to balance Megatron's revolutionary zeal with practicality and non-violence? It had been _months_. Clearly he wasn't going to be magically transported back to the future or his own world. It was time to grab this life with both hands and see what he could make of it.

Megatron growled a little and pushed Ratchet's helm back to break the kiss. "Don't do this out of relief," he said, voice a low purr of want, his field screaming that he didn't want to stop.

That alone made Ratchet want more, but he shifted back and met Megatron's garnet optics with his own. "Think we've been building toward this a while now. I just didn't realize it."

Megatron smiled, hold tightening to draw Ratchet back in close. "You can be remarkably obtuse at times."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, but a smile curved his own lips up. "Shut up and kiss me, you pain in the aft. And this time, don't stop."

Megatron obeyed, and this kiss quickly deepened, stole Ratchet's breath, and left his mind spinning in the pleasure. He couldn't remember how he ended up under Megatron, on his back with his legs locked around the gladiator's waist, and once a thick, long spike filled every free micron of his valve, he lost track of reality again and didn't care. They moved together well, only stumbling a little before finding the right rhythm of thrusts and grinding hip rolls. Megatron was gentler, more ardent than Ratchet would ever have expected. Tyrant or not, he was a gladiator, and there was a stereotype there. But instead of taking with abandon, Megatron rocked Ratchet right up into the stratosphere, slow and relentless, his fingers delving into transformation seams, his mouth hot on Ratchet's neck, face, mouth, audials.

Ratchet burned and tingled, his body trembling in naked, desperate want. "Megatron!" he gasped, earning a low, pleased growl and slightly more driving thrusts. He could only cling and claw at silver shoulders, back arched as he tried to steal more contact between their arrays with each inward stroke and plunge.

"I love the feel of you quaking under me," Megatron whispered, his rhythm faltering only a moment before returning as harder, more determined thrusts.

Ratchet keened, held right to the edge.

"Let go," Megatron purred. "I have you."

As if permission was all he had been waiting for, overload broke over Ratchet with tidal force. It swept him up in a rush of heat that crackled under his plating and ripped a sharp cry from his vocalizer. He sobbed with each surge, fingers scraping the color from Megatron's shoulders as he convulsed in ecstasy.

Before Ratchet had fully come down, Megatron grunted and tensed over him. Heat flooded over the sensitive, charged nodes of his valve, and as Megatron shuddered and moaned his pleasure, Ratchet was launched back into orbit, stars sparking and fading off into the black with his consciousness.

~ | ~

"I don't get it," Ratchet said as he watched Soundwave present Megatron with a cred chip from Senator Ratbat. "Didn't Ratbat just threaten you a month or so back? Why would he suddenly want to help you reach out more?" And frag Ratchet sideways, but half a million creds would go incredibly far down here.

"Senator Ratbat: profiting from unrest. Sees opportunity."

"I'm more than willing to use the greedy glitch's funds to feed our people," Megatron said. "This will provide energon for months to the entire movement."

Which was growing in leaps and bounds. Megatron had uncounted thousands following him now, and in truth, there wasn't anywhere he couldn't go in Kaon. Even the upper level gatekeepers turned a blind optic to Megatron striding through. He was doing good things with his newfound power, and Ratchet was amazed. Those gatekeepers let anyone with Megatron through without an identity check. So far they had 'smuggled' over two dozen mechs uplevel and into jobs they were perfectly capable of working but had been denied the opportunity before due to where they were from.

There were mechs that pushed back, disagreed and shouted for the gates to be locked, but far more were just happy to help the gladiator-turned-activist. It wasn't really a great mentality to encourage in Ratchet's opinion, but a gutter's mech worked hard, was grateful for the chance to even _have_ a job, and so made a trustworthy and dedicated employee. Megatron stood as a threatening -though genial- presence in negotiating proper pay so said gutter's mech would not be taken advantage of.

Crime was down too.

That surprised Ratchet a bit because there was a _real_ criminal element in Kaon. They were rough and used to fighting to get their way, as well as in the habit of taking what they could, when they could. Mechs could be _mean_. And not mean as in impolite, but cruel, ruthless. Fights broke out plenty, but Megatron could lecture impressively well. He is not your enemy, Megatron had said, and then spent half an hour explaining why the mechs were in truth, one another's best chance at a good future. Some lectures had become impromptu, small rallies with Megatron speaking on how the establishment _wanted_ them to fight one another. By preying on one another they were only helping their oppressors.

Ratchet knew Megatron was right. So long as the lower caste was struggling _against_ one another in an effort not to starve, they wouldn't be thinking about ways to improve the system or buck the status quo. Megatron was strong, attractive, came from the lowest of the low himself. He was charismatic and well-spoken. He stood up as a shining example to the mechs who never thought they could be _anything_ but gutter's trash.

Look what I have become! You can too- was the message, and mechs were receiving it loud and clear. They were embracing it. Even more impressive, it was happening in other places too, not just Kaon. Not _just_ under Megatron's lead. Ratchet found hope in that, because he couldn't remember anyone _but_ Megatron standing up and shouting enough. He didn't recognize the names of these other mechs, and they hadn't yet attained media attention, but they were _there_.

Megatron sorted through a number of datapads on the table that served as his desk and passed one to Soundwave, his words breaking into Ratchet's musing. "See to energon first, then spread the creds around as best as can be done." He cast a grin at Ratchet. "Don't forget medical supplies."

"The basics for general maintenance would be helpful," Ratchet added. "I can make a list?"

Soundwave's chin dipped. "Please."

Ratchet accepted the datapad from the telepath, careful that their fingers didn't brush, and hurriedly wrote down the items and supplies he thought would be of most use. "Most of my… patients of late have been mechs that _should_ be in good health. They aren't old enough for the kind of wear and damage they show."

"Other than the fact that they've never been offered the most basic of medical care," Megatron said, and Ratchet nodded.

"Good maintenance makes all the difference. Well," Ratchet said with a smirk as he scrawled his list, "that and quality energon. Someone should be brought up on attempted murder charges just for the slag they foist off as fuel down here."

Megatron's optics lit. "That is very true."

Ratchet snickered. "Time to recruit a lawyer?"

Megatron turned to Soundwave, and Soundwave gave another nod.

"I was joking," Ratchet said, optics a bit wide, stylus poised over the datapad and still as he stared in disbelief at Megatron. "No court on the planet would accept that suit."

Megatron grinned. "Winning isn't always the way to victory. Put the word out, Soundwave. Save some of the funds back to make it more enticing."

"Affirmative." Soundwave held out a hand for the datapad, and Ratchet hurried to scribble down the last few items before passing it back.

"Thank you, Soundwave," Megatron said.

"Yes, thank you," Ratchet said, watching as the telepath as he exited the room that had become something of Megatron's office. He turned to Megatron once the door was shut and said, "I'm still not sure if accepting Ratbat's creds is a good idea. Primus only knows how he'll twist this."

Megatron smirked and rounded the table to face the medic, hands going to Ratchet's hips and drawing him in. "Oh yes. Imagine the other Senators and all those nobles in their shining Towers learning Ratbat is funding the rebellion that wants to force them to free their slaves and pay their employees a fair wage."

Ratchet had to give him that point. "Still. It feels… wrong."

Megatron leaned in, one hand lifting to tip Ratchet's face up. "Don't worry so. I know what a monster Ratbat is, and I will never trust him." A soft, warm kiss was pressed to the medic's mouth. Then another. Then another that was more heated.

Ratchet wasn't sure if this was distraction or addiction. Primus, since that first time they could hardly keep their hands off one another. Thoughts of Ratbat and the trouble his creds could cause were certainly fading from Ratchet's mind as he melted into Megatron's embrace. He decided to let it go for now. They _were_ doing good. _Megatron_ was doing a _lot_ of good.

~ | ~

Ratchet stormed down the corridor behind Megatron, anger driving him, though he knew better than to shout down the Decepticon leader in public. Once the office door shut, however, it was no holds barred.

"What the frag was all that?!" Ratchet snarled. "What was _that_?!"

"Ratchet," Megatron said, reaching for the medic, but Ratchet smacked his hand away.

"No. No, I can't believe-" Ratchet shook his helm. "I can’t believe I believed in you."

Megatron reared back, optics wide and expression flashing to hurt for an instant before he narrowed his gaze into a glare. "This was necessary," he growled. "We needed energon. We needed supplies."

"Not through _violence_!" Ratchet raged, hands clenched in fists, then he jabbed one finger at the door. "What do you think is happening out there right now? And I don't mean here in Kaon. I mean at that depot. What do you think is going to happen to those mechs?"

"We warned them to step back. Not to fight us," Megatron said, his hands spreading, proving to Ratchet that he just didn't understand. "No one was ever meant to get hurt, but a show of force and proof that we're willing to use that force is the only way we'll be heard anymore. We've gone as far as we can. The elite care nothing for the starving, the dying!"

"I know that, but you condoning violence, _leading_ mechs into violence against other mechs who are just trying to make a living so they don't starve too, only proves _your_ cruelty," Ratchet argued, pointing at Megatron.

"I am not cruel!"

Ratchet huffed and threw his arms out. "You just destroyed lower Iacon's docks. How many mechs did you just put out of work? How many mechs did you kill? How many more did you leave to linger, wounded and helpless with no access to repairs? That was an act of terrorism, Megatron!"

"It was rebellion, and proof we will not lie down and roll over to their oppression!" Megatron shot back, a growl in his voice, but Ratchet was too angry to be afraid.

"It was _wrong_ ," Ratchet insisted. "It was wrong, and you had better slagging well be _damn_ sincere in your statement and apology!"

That drew Megatron up short, and he blinked at Ratchet. "My what?"

"Your apology," Ratchet replied, voice low. "Your very public, very sincere, damage control apology, so you don't alienate the very mechs who need the changes you're trying to enact."

Megatron cycled vents then noddded. "You're right. This requires a statement." He looked up at Ratchet. "And I do understand your desire to avoid all violence. You are a medic. It's in your spark."

"It's more than that."

"I understand, Ratchet," Megatron repeated. "However, we aren't going to get anywhere if they don't see us as a true threat. Whenever possible, I will avoid harm to _anyone_ that doesn't deserve it, but we will have to fight."

"Anyone that doesn't deserve it," Ratchet repeated dully.

Megatron gripped his arms. "Come with me. I can make that apology right now, from my spark, no speech-writing or practicing."

"Come with you?" Ratchet asked, looking up in confusion.

Megatron smiled and gave the medic's arms a squeeze. "I know you like your shadows and anonymity, but you are my most trusted advisor. The people should know who you are. Stop shaking your helm like that. You are important to me and this Cause. I want you at my side."

Ratchet dodged the kiss and shook himself free of Megatron's hold. "I can't. I… No. Megatron, I can't." Primus, his younger self was out there, a freshly minted medic. If he wasn't at that dock clean up right now, then it was the next one. Ratchet couldn't remember, the memories fuzzed from all the vorns and all the equally horrific scenes of disaster he had rushed to in an effort to save lives. The one thing he did remember, after making a bit of a name for himself as a capable medic, was that Megatron had tried to abduct him from the site of a raid that had gone bad. Lethal. It was when Ratchet met Ironhide as he was there as a guard to protect the aid workers.

"Why won't you stand with me?" Megatron demanded. "It's been noticed, Ratchet. Why doesn't Megatron's own lover stand with him? Why is he never at the rallies?"

Ratchet shook his helm. "I can't be a public figure, and you know that. _Tell_ them that."

"Your past no longer matters!"

"It does to me," Ratchet said softly.

Megatron inhaled and sighed noisily, plating rustling before settling in a display of irritation. "I need your support."

"And you have it," Ratchet said."

"Publicly. Don't play word games with me. You know exactly what I mean." Megatron scrubbed at his face. "We are at a critical point. I need you."

"And I'll be right here, or in my medbay, but not in front of a camera," Ratchet stated, tone final. He would not, _could not_ budge on this.

"Fine," Megatron snarled, then stormed out of the office.

Ratchet covered his face with both hands, optics shut, as he tried to cycle his respiration and calm himself. He understood too. Really. He heard the whispers, and he heard the direct questions. Why didn't the medic stand beside Megatron? Why didn't he stand in support of the mech he loved?

Pain and fear tore at Ratchet's spark. How had this become so much more than him just 'taking one for the team'? Wasn't that his original plan? He needed to be there with Megatron for that plan, but also because Megatron needed _him_. Today was- Primus. Awful. Maybe it had been inevitable, but if Ratchet faltered now, what would happen to Megatron? He was _so_ good right now. He _cared_. He cared so frelling much that it made Ratchet feel pale and hollow in comparison. And Ratchet knew what Megatron could become.

With a heavy sigh, Ratchet left the office too, his pace quick. He couldn’t stand with Megatron today, but maybe he could change his colors, disguise himself somehow. Maybe even go so far as to choose a new designation just for that public face. Then he could stand beside Megatron. The Decepticons would know who he was, but a disguise so that Ratchet's own younger self wouldn't recognize him would be enough. Then he could be that supportive lover, the positive influence he had molded himself into without fear of causing some space-time disaster. He could stand at Megatron's side, which was exactly where he _wanted_ to be.

Ratchet stepped outside, wincing at the sound of thunder. It would take a while for the acid rain to reach the lower levels, but Primus what a day, and now a storm. He looked around, wondering where Megatron would have gone, then decided it was probably to the large meeting arena. He would stay back for Megatron's speech then tell him about the compromise. Megatron was reasonable. He would agree to that, and they would be fine. Ratchet would deal with the 'show of force' debate another day.

Another thunderclap sounded, so loud and close that Ratchet instinctively crouched and covered his head. He dared to look up and gasped at the swirling vortex opening right over him.

"No!" Ratchet cried and launched straight into a run. "No!" he screamed as his feet were swept off the ground and up into the air. "Nooo!"

~ | ~

Ratchet tumbled end over end, twisted and spun about until his gyros desynchronized, his tanks protested, and he was sure he was going to be sick. Then the ground was rushing up to meet him, and he cringed even before the impact. There was a roaring in his audials, and his glitched gyros left his processors certain that he was about to fall up off the ground any second now, but he struggled to his feet. He need to find Megatron. He had to-

The world came into focus, browns and greens, and blue in the bright sunlit sky.

Earth.

A sob broke from Ratchet before he could stop it, but then more sounds caught his attention as the space bridge's gate opened.

"Ratchet!" Optimus Prime roared, then blinked as Ratchet stumbled out. If the medic's helm and spark weren't shredding themselves, the confused look up at the sky, then back down to Ratchet would have been amusing. "Ratchet?"

Ratchet staggered out, taking it in, hurt and fear morphing to rage as his gaze landed on Megatron. " _You_!" he snarled and stomped forward, fury making his stride long and more steady than he had any right to be after that trip through time and space. He marched right up to Megatron, finger stabbing right at the tyrant's nose.

Megatron reached out, confusion in crimson optics and written all over his face. Ratchet batted the hand aside, and all around them, Autobots and Decepticons forgot to try to kill one another and watched the tableau unfolding before their optics.

"You bastard!" Ratchet growled. "You fragged maniac! Didn't _anything_ I _ever_ said get through that thick-aft bucket on your head?!"

Megatron blinked, but then understanding, or at least recognition lit his face. "You left! You betrayed me! What's the word of a traitor?"

One red finger was jabbed back toward the gate of the space bridge. "I got zapped back in time, fell in _love_ with you, got bounced back here after nearly a fragged _year_ , and-"

"No! You left!" Megatron roared, interrupting. "I saw you on that telecast later that night! You didn't even bother to discuss it with me!"

"I _left_ because time decided to fuck with me just a little bit more and dragged my aft back here!" Ratchet screamed, fists clenched at his sides. "You saw my younger self. You saw the very frelling reason I couldn't stand with you publicly!"

"You could have said something! Long before that argument! You had more than enough opportunity to!"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Ratchet shot back, voice snide. "Hey, honey, I'm from the Unicron-fragged future where you're a murderous tyrant who's cast away his spark and all his ideals in the pursuit of conquest!"

"I'd have paid to see that," Starscream said, a smirk on his face.

"Shut up!" Ratchet and Megatron shouted together.

"You could have said something," Megatron said.

"And you could have held onto your morals," Ratchet replied, lip curling in a sneer, spark throbbing and optics burning. Megatron reached a hand out, and Ratchet knocked it away again. "Don't you touch me! Don't you dare ever fragging touch me again! How could you become this?! What happened to equality? What happened to making Cybertron a better place for _all_ Cybertronians?" His vents caught, but Ratchet was _going_ to have his say. All of it had been for nothing. Megatron still became a maniac. "You've destroyed it instead," he accused, voice tremulous. "You're destroying all of us."

And I still love you, Ratchet refused to say. It was only five minutes ago for him, and he couldn't separate the face he was looking at now from the one that had kissed him awake that morning.

Megatron stared back at Ratchet for a moment in silence, then he stepped back and launched without a word.

"Decepticons retreat," Soundwave ordered, his visor bright and locked on Ratchet's face. Even Starscream obeyed without complaint. 

Ratchet watched, at a loss and feeling empty- hollow as Megatron just flew off. Once the Decepticons were only specks in the sky, he turned and started walking, afraid his spark was actually guttering out it hurt so much, but unsure whether he cared to stop it if it was.

"Ratchet?" Optimus called, hand reaching.

Ratchet shook his helm, dodged Wheeljack's concerned hand, and transformed once he reached the road. It was a miracle he made it back to the _Ark_ without causing an accident. Driving while sobbing one's bolts and bearings out was ill-advised.

~ | ~

For days everyone gave Ratchet a wide berth and tiptoed around him when they couldn't. Ratchet left the medbay in Hoist and Perceptor's hands, preferring to reacquaint himself with the storage room and their supplies. It had been nearly a year since he had last taken inventory. Or only a few weeks. It depended on one's perspective.

Wheeljack, best friend that he was and always had been, was the first to dare Ratchet's wrath, sit him down, and make him drink a cube of energon. Proving he was deserving of those best friend stripes, Wheeljack never again brought up Ratchet gasping wrenching sobs over how good the energon was. Then he listened to the whole sordid tale and didn't even hate Ratchet a little for falling for Megatron of all mechs, or for supporting the Decepticon cause in its infancy.

Day four closed with Ratchet beginning to feel a little less displaced and out of touch with reality. That was until he entered his quarters and saw a datapad on his berth. His hands shook as he read a note dated the last day he had been with Megatron. It was an apology, not to Cybertron, but to Ratchet, asking that when he returned and read this, to please comm Megatron. They could work it out.

When Ratchet finally dried his optics, he went to open his comms, but ended up with Optimus on the line.

// _Ratchet, I'm sorry to trouble you, but I need you in the conference room please._ // Prime still sounded leery of Ratchet's reaction.

// _Alright. Give me five. What's this about?_ //

Optimus hesitated a moment, then said, // _Megatron has offered a formal ceasefire and wants to begin peace talks._ // He sounded bewildered but happy, and Ratchet repeated his need for five minutes, then closed the line before opening another.

// _You know,_ // Ratchet said by way of greeting, // _If you want peace, you probably shouldn't send spies into the_ Ark _to break into the CMO's private quarters._ //

// _Perhaps not,_ // Megatron replied. // _But it seemed like a good idea at the time._ //

Ratchet cycled his vents, hoping his voice didn't sound as unsteady as he felt. // _I'm not sure we can go back to what was. I was in love with a mech that didn't believe in killing innocents to get what he wanted._ //

There was silence for a moment, then Megatron replied, // _I hope to find that mech again. Would you be willing to help me?_ //

Ratchet was nodding, vision bleared and optics burning before he realized Megatron couldn't see him. // _Sure. I guess I can try anyways._ //

Megatron chuckled at the failed attempt at nonchalance, but when he spoke again, his voice was serious and sincere. // _For you, I will find the lost glitch and drag him back into the light._ //

// _Good,_ // Ratchet replied, at a loss for words. // _We can talk later. I've got a meeting to get to. Seems someone commed Prime about peace talks. He's giddy. It's adorable. So you go and look for that mech, and I'll… comm you later._ //

// _Try not to fall through time again before you do,_ // Megatron said, and Ratchet could see the wry smile. // _Until later._ //

The line clicked lightly as Megatron cut the comms, and Ratchet stared at the datapad and tried to bring his emotions back under control. He was late to the meeting, but for the first time in a _long_ time, he felt truly hopeful. Maybe it would all fall to slag again, but maybe, just maybe, this time it wouldn't.


End file.
